


sweeter than sugar

by darlingdreamer21



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Canon Compliant, Check notes in the beginning for minor warning, Chocolate, First Kiss, Fluff, Kitagawa Daiichi, M/M, Mentioned Kindaichi Yuutarou, Oblivious Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa does the cleaning not the cooking, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29395224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingdreamer21/pseuds/darlingdreamer21
Summary: Tooru had never really noticed this before, but Valentine’s Day in Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High was a pain in the ass. Everywhere he went, he saw girls chuckling nervously (which did not help his own nerves in the least, thank you very much), bright red and dark amber boxes were exchanged with a flustered word or two, and the overall fervent atmosphere made Tooru want to gag.Not to mention, there were his own gaggle of loyal fans. He respected them, and appreciated their support, he truly did. But, now that he was in a similar dilemma, their presence only made him more conscious of his impending plan.Or Tooru has the perfect plan in mind to confess his feelings to Iwa-chan, on Valentine's Day. Except there's the impending revelation that his plan could very well explode in his face.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 1
Kudos: 30





	sweeter than sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this fic took longer than I thought it would (￣▽￣*)ゞ 
> 
> This was the most self-indulgent fic I've ever written and its my first IwaOi fic as well! Its so fun to write about these two, I love these idiots
> 
> The timeline of this fic is somewhere after Iwaizumi headbutted Oikawa and before their last junior high match against Shiratorizawa.
> 
> And there's a scene with implied homophobia, but its very minor. But feel free to skip if you feel uncomfortable. It starts at the paragraph 'A middle aged woman—her hand wrapped around her child's....'

“ _Dammit_!”

Tooru swore for the umpteenth time that evening, ducking his head furiously to wipe away the oppressive droplet of sweat trickling down, on his shirt sleeve. He circled his arm, the one holding the spatula, in a desperate attempt to dissolve the lumps of sugar and cocoa powder. But even after a few minutes of strenuous stirring, the white and brown bits glared up at him menacingly.

“Hnnnggh! I hate you, you stupid excuse of a confectionary!”

The excused didn’t reprimand. Typical. Huffing out an irate exhale, Tooru lifted the warm glass bowl off his makeshift double-boiler, the heat stifled by the towel wrapped around the it. He placed the bowl next to two other ones, both of which were equally grainy and pathetic and _just not right._ Tooru made a mental note: Attempt 3 failed. He leaned against the counter, letting Taeko Ohnuki’s soft trills emanating from the old radio wash away his despondent thoughts. He would do this no matter what. If he gave up now, there was no way he could shake off the regret (or wait for one more year; he wasn’t a patient boy).

Oikawa Tooru was on a mission. Perched atop the metal study desk in his bedroom, was a ‘Festivals around the world’ themed calendar, and on the coated paper marked ‘FEBRUARY’ (The Losar festival, celebrated by the Tibetans as the first day of New Year, emphasised with three important days of dance, music and popular processions), the glorious number 14 was wreathed inside a wonky red circle.

The 14th of February was a dreaded day for a handful, an anticipatory one for some, and an overstrung event for all. But for Tooru, it was a sure-shot day with a mountain of prettily-wrapped boxes of sweets, and an avalanche of nervous confessions from several stuttering girls. He made sure to return their sentiment every year after a month, when he gave the girls store-bought chocolates on White Day.

Usually, he never really gave too much of a thought to Valentine’s Day. It was just a day where things were a little more crowded than usual, and a few more feminine giggles reached his ears. But this year, things were different. Because he, Tooru, had made up his mind to make and gift chocolates to his ace and childhood friend, Iwaizumi Hajime. And they weren’t any obligatory ones; no, he would gift Iwa-chan the real deal, the romantic kind of chocolates with a good ol’ confession.

He wasn’t sure how it would work out, but it was mission, nonetheless. But his hopeless culinary skills—or lack of—were obviously refusing to gauge the significance of his situation.

_No, Tooru, stop that. You can do this. You’ll make the most scrumptious batch of chocolates, wrap it in the prettiest way possible and gift it to Iwa-chan tomorrow. Don’t lose hope._

In contradiction to his internal voice of reason, he only felt like throwing a physically draining tantrum, give up with a few choice words aimed at his excuses for Valentine chocolates, and curl up in his futon and sleep like an infant.

“Geh! Tooru, you’re in the kitchen? What’s wrong? If Mom sees this mess, she’ll kill both of us.”

Tooru jumped up, startled. He whipped around to see his older sister, Takako, standing by the kitchen entrance, a large travel suitcase resting beside her. Her cheeks were puffed pink from the cold outside and her dark hair was disarrayed.

The incredulous expression on her face was punctuated by the demanding, ‘I-am-your-onee-san-so-spill-everything- _now_ ’ leer she was currently giving him. It was a simple fact in the Oikawa household that Takako’s eyes were enough to gorge out whatever her little brother was thinking, much to the latter’s chagrin.

“I-it’s n-nothing at all, nee-chan!”

So naturally, lying was always out of option for him.

Takako pursed her lips in suspicion as she watched the anguished middle-schooler rush about the compact kitchen, trying his best to patch up the evidence of his culinary mishaps. Before she could probe further, Tooru hurried to ask, “Anyway, weren’t you supposed to arrive tomorrow?”

His sister shrugged, “I cancelled the flight I originally booked when I found another one which would get me to Sendai a day earlier, so I went for it. Not to mention, it was a steal!” she finished with a smug grin on her face. “Also, I wanted to surprise Mom and Dad.”

“What about me?”

“Eh, you too, I guess.”

“Hey! That’s mean!”

Takako laughed, “Sorry, sorry. Of course, I wanted to see you, Tooru. But I’ve to say, Takeru was more excited in that department.”

Tooru felt his mood lift, and squinted behind his sister to look for a tiny and energetic presence. “Where is Takeru?”

“He’s at his father’s for a day,” when Takako caught the sour look spread on Tooru’s face she sighed, “I know you don’t like him, Tooru, but Takeru needs to see his Dad too. We can’t take that away from him. Anyway, we’ll be staying for a month or two, before we resume our shifting in Tokyo. So, cheer up, you big baby.”

“Ok.” Tooru dragged out the ‘o’ deliberately and dodged the punch Takako aimed at him with expert precision. “Hey, nee-chan, I’ll take your things upstairs and draw you a bath. By that time, Mom will be back.” Without further ado, he hefted up his sister’s luggage, and exited the kitchen (promptly forgetting about the blatant pointers of his confectionary disasters he left on the kitchen counter).

It was only when he was drawing a warm bath for Takako, humming and snapping his fingers to the tune, he realised his mistake. _Oh. Oh no._

“Shoot!”

He bounded downstairs, forgoing a step in intervals, till he reached the kitchen. Takako had stuck her forefinger in one of the bowls and tasted the unfinished chocolate. “Nee-chan, don’t!” She turned towards Tooru, a momentary look of disgust painted across her features.

“Did you dump a country’s worth of sugar in this?”. She coughed and wrinkled her face. “Geez, Tooru, if you’re making this for your crush at least avoid being sleazy.”

An embarrassing squeak escaped out of his mouth. “W-what? No this isn’t for anyone, it’s for me! Nee-san, you’ve got it wrong.”

“You hate milk chocolate, Tooru,” Takako deadpanned, her voice flat, “and Mom told me about how you marked the 14th of this month on that calendar of yours. It doesn’t take much to join the dots.”

Tooru gaped at his sister, his mouth open and his tongue tied. It was probably impossible for any other person to experience the whirlpool of various emotions coursing through him at that moment: shock, helplessness and betrayal, because _how could his mother do that to him._

“Mom can’t help it, Tooru. It’s in her nature. Did you seriously think you could get anything past her?” At Takako’s remark, Tooru realised that he had voiced his internal disbelief. Without batting an eye, she continued, “Anyway, who are you working so hard for? Who is the lucky person receiving my baby brother’s handmade chocolate?”

Instead of giving a proper answer, Tooru windmilled his arms ahead of him and darted his gaze everywhere except towards Takako. There was no way he could tell her that he was giving the chocolates to Iwa-chan, the same Iwa-chan whom his sister knew as well as Tooru. It was weird enough that Tooru—a boy—was the one planning to gift and confess on Valentine’s Day; but given that the person he admired was another boy, his own best friend, Tooru was quite reluctant to let anyone know.

He knew for the last few months that he did not see Iwaizumi in a platonic sense—or specifically, when he stopped getting upset when the latter pummelled him at arm wrestling, and instead started enjoying the warm presence of Iwaizumi’s fingers wrapped around his hand. Moreover, he had panicked when he had confronted his feelings head-on, causing him to miss a day’s worth of invaluable practice. But after regaining himself and getting back on his feet, Tooru wasn’t affected all that much by the brand new revelation.

He liked Iwaizumi Hajime. His grumpy, strong, kind and extremely talented best friend. Tooru liked him _romantically_. He would feel the strong urge to hold hands with Iwa-chan, walk home with him every day (which they did but that wasn’t what he meant), go on dates with him, _kiss him_ (Tooru couldn’t help but blush every single time even a sliver of the thought of Iwa-chan and him kissing slid into his mind. Ok, maybe he wasn’t ready to kiss or be kissed now, seeing as he’d probably combust), whenever he eyed his friend for a second or two longer than necessary.

The only harrowing part of the equation he had formed was that he had to bottle up his lovey-dovey thoughts so that they wouldn’t overflow and effectively creep Iwa-chan out and embarrass him.

But then he saw his beacon of hope in the form of 14th of February; he had a crystal clear plan– make the chocolates (complete with the detailed pretty colours and the red-white-pink sprinkles shaped like little hearts), decide how he would convey his feelings to Iwa-chan, and the next day, he would drag out the said boy to a secluded area in their school grounds, and execute the play. But he was falling short thanks to his own faithless culinary skills and one probing big sister. The big sister whom he hadn’t answered to.

“Tooru.” Takako’s low voice made him jump in apprehension. He did not at all like the expression she was wearing. “If you don’t wanna say anything, make it clear. Don’t make your tired nee-chan wait like a fool, expecting something out of your flippant mouth.”

“Flippant?!”

Takako waved her hand idly, “Don’t mess around here for too long. If Mom happens to be late, I’ll fix something for us.” She exited the kitchen, her words waning as she walked farther away. “Do whatever you want to before 8:30.”

Tooru blinked. _Well, now that’s just something else._ It was new that his sister didn’t burrow about to find his mystery crush’s identity or tease him. _Maybe motherhood changed her,_ he mused and snorted at the ridiculous thought. _Unless..._

Tooru shook his head. No, no. That couldn’t have been the case. At least he hoped that Takako hadn’t figured out about Iwa-chan.

Whatever. If he dwelled on it too much, he wouldn’t be able to focus. Tooru straightened up, and stared down at the three bowls of sweet disaster. “I’m going to prove you wrong, half-complete chocolates. Just you wait and see. A way better and tastier victor shall rise.” The failed ventures did not reply or scream bloody murder at Tooru, as expected. He took out another glass bowl out of the cabinet and got to business, his tongue stuck out determinedly.

_200 grams of cocoa powder._

_200 grams of powdered sugar_ (because Iwa-chan was the kind of monster who preferred his chocolates so sweet, that it would make any _normal_ person’s teeth rot).

_172 grams cocoa butter_

Tooru would make the damn chocolates even if he had to stay up whole night.

(which he did)

* * *

Tooru had never really noticed this before, but Valentine’s Day in Kitagawa Daiichi Junior High was a pain in the ass. Everywhere he went, he saw girls chuckling nervously (which did not help his own nerves in the least, thank you very much), bright red and dark amber boxes were exchanged with a flustered word or two, and the overall fervent atmosphere made Tooru want to gag.

Not to mention, there were his own gaggle of loyal fans. He respected them, and appreciated their support, he truly did. But, now that he was in a similar dilemma, their presence only made him more conscious of his impending plan. So, he tried his best to reject their advances in the politest way he could (Tooru hated it if anyone cried because of him), and avoided being caught under the spotlight he usually craved for. 

And since Iwaizumi was in a different classroom, Tooru had asked him to meet outside by the alcove, where they often spent their lunch breaks together, after club hours. Now, he could only hope that things would go about smoothly, and his ambiguous plan wouldn’t explode in his face in its disjointed glory. As the end of each class neared, the knot in Tooru’s gut twisted tighter and tighter, and the pace of his pulse quickened.

Between the teachers’ drawn out lectures, he found himself digging around his head for excuses for which he could avoid Iwa-chan—before he shook himself out of the cowardly and worthless wool-gathering; _there is no way I will back away._ He kept repeating the line to himself for the rest of the day (which no doubt attracted more than a few confused glances from his schoolmates and teachers).

If there was one thing Tooru was thankful for, was volleyball practice. It didn’t take him long to settle down and before he knew it, whatever had been bugging him all day, was now pushed to the very back of his mind. The reassuring circumference of the Mikasa ball against his finger pads , the sound of shoes squeaking on the gym floor (which was music to his ears), the enthusiastic shouts of his fellow club members and the sure presence of his teammates.

_The team with the better six is stronger._

As if by instinct, the ball Tooru set curved graciously to where Iwa-chan had positioned himself by the net. He jumped up and spiked an impressive straight, much to the annoyance of their opposing team’s blockers.

“Nice kill, Iwa-chan!”

The ace locked eyes with Tooru (his breath snagged hold onto a heavy feeling inside his chest) and flashed a triumphant thumbs up at him, which the other boy returned with a grin of his own.Ever since Iwa-chan had knocked sense into Tooru’s head (literally) things were looking up for him. He had started to appreciate his team, tried to bring out the best of their potential and built around a wall of confidence and poise. The pressure which usually used to weigh him down, and cause him to mess up his sets during crucial moments, was now replaced by assurance in his teammates who stood by him. _Our team is strong and there is no way we can be stopped._

Tooru faced the net with the tall first-year middle blocker, Kindaichi, beside him. They only needed one more point to win the practice match. The whistle blew, signalling the start of the play. Tooru didn’t have to look back, not after all these years. He knew that Iwa-chan had his back. He was there when Tooru needed a motivational pep talk or a harsh scolding, he was there when the latter was injured or just indolent. Iwaizumi was his pillar he could lean on for support.

“Give us a great serve, Iwa-chan!”

* * *

_Where are you, where are you, where are you…_

Tooru paced around the deserted part of the school ground, his hands clasped behind him. With each step he took, he felt his gym bag nudge the side of his thigh, reminding him of the weight of the carefully wrapped box of chocolates. With each step, the urge to run away gnawed at him and the voice inside his head—edged with panic—screamed at Tooru to get a hold on himself.

On top of that, there was the lingering thought of Tooru’s confession going horribly wrong, and their eight-years-long friendship turning sour and awkward. Tooru groaned in frustration. He suddenly felt a great amount of respect for all the girls who had confessed to him before; they definitely had more courage than him.

“Oikawa-senpai?”

“Gaaahh!” Tooru winced and flailed his arms upward in shock. He whirled around to face his wide-eyed underclassman. “What the hell—Tobio?! Are you planning on becoming the main setter after killing me off with a heart attack!”

“No, Oikawa-senpai. Is your heart okay?”

Tooru ground his teeth together to prevent snapping at Kageyama, who held a volleyball in front of his chest, a hopeful expression painted across his face. _Dammit, he looks as cute as a puppy but why he has to be so infuriating and blunt._ “Anyway, before you ask, I’m not gonna teach you to serve. I’m busy right now.”

Kageyama furrowed his brows, “But, Oikawa-senpai I—”

“Nope, not gonna listen to you, stupid face!” Oikawa stuck out his tongue, and pulled a grotesque face at Kageyama to complete the effect. “Oikawa-san is busy, and he is not gonna—”

Before he could complete his sentence, Tooru felt a strong force against the small of his back, which knocked him a few steps forward. Sharp pain flooded his senses and he sucked in a long breath, expelling it out with a pronounced groan.

“Ow! Who hit me so hard?!”

“That’s what you deserve for bullying your underclassman, you dumbass.”

Tooru blinked. He whipped is head around to face his very pissed off best friend. Iwaizumi turned to address Kageyama, his voice apologetic , “Sorry, Kageyama. You can go. Anyway, its past club hours.”

Kageyama nodded, his eyebrows knitted together. After he left, Iwaizumi turned at Tooru, apparently ready to scold him, but the latter beat him to it. “Iwa-chan, you’re late.”

The boy in question started a little at Tooru’s sudden remark before he regained himself. “Nakazawa-sensei needed my help so she stopped me.” He tucked his chin in the folds of his dark grey scarf.

(“You couldn’t have chosen a _more_ cornily masculine colour, Iwa-chan,” Tooru had deadpanned when he saw the monstrosity of the scarf for the first time, “your fashion choices are as dull as your movie collection.”

He had then skirted away from Iwaizumi’s vicinity that usually resulted his nose in being his friend’s punching bag, seventy percent of the time. To his astonishment, instead of a well-placed punch, Iwaizumi had only sighed, “At least it’s better than your stupid collection of space-themed boxers.” He had then walked away humming, his gruff drones harmonized with Tooru’s offended kvetching). 

Iwa-chan cupped his naked hands in front of his mouth blew into them, his round cheeks sprayed with a quiet crimson (Tooru couldn’t help but think how cute and subdued the other boy looked like this, but he dared not voice out his thought), his olive eyes found Tooru’s, lit with the tincture of an unspoken question, _what’s the matter_ , which he deciphered within a heartbeat.

Rather than telling Iwa-chan the reason Tooru called him, he fidgeted with his blue and white Kitagawa Daiichi jacket before reaching for the side of his gym bag where he felt a cuboidal protrusion. He was seized with an urge of hurling the box at Iwa-chan’s face and then run away, laughing hysterically. But Tooru pushed the ridiculous thought out of his head, and wished he could steady his racing heart.

“Oi, what is it? We shouldn’t stay out in the cold like this, Oikawa, make it quick.”

Tooru’s breathing stuttered and his palms started to sweat grossly in his gloves. _I can’t do this_. He tried to grip onto his drowning courage, or what was left of it, but only received a whiff of stale agitation. The cold wind left the exposed portion of his face raw, and it was as if his larynx was frozen. The quizzical mask Iwa-chan wore only succeeded in taking his squirrelly nerves up a notch.

Before he could render himself into overthinking things any further, Tooru reached inside his bag and pulled out the box, wrapped with a glossy teal paper (decorated with thumbnail-sized Godzillas), and thrust it at Iwa-chan. 

When his brain at last comprehended his action, it was too late; Iwaizumi had already plucked the box from his hand. “What’s this?” He inspected the box closely, as if searching any clues for the contents hidden inside. He looked up at Tooru (an action which was still new for both of them, since it had always been Iwa-chan who had to crane his neck downwards to meet Tooru’s eyes) and continued, “Oikawa, is this for me?”

“Huh.”

Tooru spotted the clench in Iwaizumi’s jaw, an action most associated with irritation and impatience. He couldn’t trust his words, so Tooru nodded. Iwaizumi hesitated, the crick between his eyebrows loosening, and slowly started to unwrap the paper, the scarlet sheen of the box peeping out sneakily.

Tooru had often heard of the phrase ‘life flashing before one’s eyes’, but never thought that he’d experience each year of his life being peeled away as Iwaizumi removed the wrapping paper off the box. There definitely wasn’t any use running away, and Tooru dreaded to imagine what he’d do if he were rejected (his brain had refused to concoct a solution for that when he thought of the scenario). _If worst comes to worst,_ he determined, _I’ll leave the country, anyway I’ve an uncle in the States. That sounds good. I’ll only have to ask my parents then—_

“Chocolates?”

Iwaizumi had once again achieved a twisted façade (despite the many warnings he had received from Tooru, who would always point out that the former would get wrinkles on his face before he turned forty), and looked down at the chocolates like they had personally declared a war against him. His eyes darted towards Tooru and then back to the cursed sweets. “Is this your idea of a joke, giving me some other girl’s Valentines gift, who probably put effort into it?”

Tooru gaped at the other boy. _Who would’ve thought Iwa-chan could be_ this _dumb._

“W-what, no! Iwa-chan I may be a pain in the ass at times, but I’d never go that far!” Tooru exclaimed after recovering. “They are for you, by the way.” The prickly tone of his voice dropped to a sheepish mutter. “The chocolates. I made them for you.”

The thing was that Tooru was quite used to being confessed to (despite the many complaints from his fellow third years in the club that he sounded big-headed whenever he phrased it that way) by girls. But this was the first time he was in the one in the girls’ place, experiencing the same back-breaking anticipation, and _shouldn’t Iwa-chan hurry up already; be it a yes or no, just rip off the band-aid, for God’s sake!_

“Are these–” Iwa-chan hesitated, “–the friendship chocolate kind?”

“Iwa-chan.”

“What?”

“I _made_ them. At home. From scratch. If these held the sentiments of friendship, I could’ve given it to anyone.”

As if someone had splashed a bucket of ice-cold water on him, an instantaneous look of realization streaked Iwaizumi’s visage. His eyes were as wide as saucers, and the grip he had on the sleek scarlet box tightened as he pulled it close to his chest. “Oikawa, you—”

Tooru shook his head vigorously and turned away, “Forget it, Iwa-chan. It’s not important, I’ll just go.” He turned back and hurried towards the direction of the back gate, desperate to escape despite the alarm bells going off in his head. Just as he neared the metal gate’s proximity, a strong force grabbed him back by his collar. The world was—for a split second or two—a mess of white, green and blue, and Tooru almost got his face planted on the rough concrete ground, if not for Iwaizumi pulling him up.

Tooru gawked at his friend, “Thanks.”

“That’s what you get for running away in the middle of a damn conversation, which is very rude, you dumbass.”

Tooru inhaled a shaky breath. “Iwa-chan, you need to start using insults which are anything else than dumbass.”

Iwaizumi glared at him (the effect ruined by the bright red box and his equally red cheeks and nose) and raised his fist threateningly. “As if, you ass. Now tell me everything.”

“Tell you what?”

Iwaizumi growled, “Explain why you gave me–” he faltered, and Tooru could almost make out the steam rising from his ears— “the-the chocolates…” his voice dialled down with each word, his ears now hued a deep magenta. _Is there really a need for explanation?_

Tooru huffed, “I gave them to you cause I like you, you dummy.” He drew back a little, surprised at his own spurt of audacity. In fact, he had calmed down after his outburst followed by the pathetic more-or-less escape attempt. 

But the same could not be said for poor Iwa-chan, whose brain seemed to have short-circuited. He stood ankle-deep in the snow, the box still clutched to his chest like it was a prestigious fragment of his life force, and an expression similar to that of a person who probably saw Hashimoto-san—the old janitor—naked (which was for a lack of better word, unfortunate).“H-how…you too, I—” Iwaizumi broke off suddenly, as if he had bit his tongue.

Just when Tooru started to form a teasing remark to further tick his friend off, when he registered what Iwaizumi had choked out.

_Hang on... “you too”? …did he just…_

The setter gasped, “Iwa-chan, what did you mean by that?” He shuffled towards the other boy, an air of determination resonating from his snow-muffled footsteps. “What did you mean by ‘you too’?” He reached his nimble arms forward, and seized hold of Iwaizumi, punctuating each word with a spirited shake of his shoulders.

Rather than answering him like any cultured member of the human race, Iwa-chan chose to wrench himself from Tooru’s iron grip by headbutting his chin. While Tooru staggered and bleated in pain, Iwaizumi steadied himself, fixing a harsh glare on the setter. Tooru leered at his friend, and without missing a beat demanded, “Iwa-chan, I will keep pestering you till you answer me! Also, you didn’t give me a proper response to my confession either.” And without further ado, Tooru struggled to grip Iwaizumi’s arm.

The two boys struggled, their movements hindered by the thick snow. Iwaizumi tried to push Tooru off him, while the other boy refused to let go of his iron-like grip from the former’s jacket. Their tussle was accentuated by Iwaizumi’s aggravated grunts of “let me go!” and the other boy’s aggressive huffs of determination. What followed their actions was inevitable: Tooru slipped on the melted portion of the fallen snow and lost his footing, effectively taking down Iwaizumi with him.

The snow cushioned their fall.

For once in his life, Tooru was grateful for the white, freezing monstrosity. Except for the damp numbness he felt in the back of his head, he was fine. When the dark spots cleared from his vision, Iwaizumi’s pink face materialised above his own. His hands seemed to be pinned on either side of Tooru’s shoulders, holding himself up. Puffs of cold air escaped from his mouth each time he exhaled, and his green irises reflected Tooru’s own shock.

The two boys’ eyes never left each other’s, before they caught up on their current predicament. Tooru’s neck flushed hotly, as he and Iwaizumi scrambled to sit on their knees. Tooru peeked at his friend, then quickly tore away his eyes when he noticed Iwaizumi stealing a glance at him as well.

The vivid carmine of the naked box—now resting on the ground, in the small gap between their folded knees—evoked a stark contrast to the clear snow. Iwaizumi’s hand reached down to pluck the box carefully and held it straight below his eyeline. Carefully, Iwaizumi lifted the lid, revealing three neat rows of shoddy chocolate spheres. He picked one from the far right, a bonbon topped with tiny sugar hearts, and popped it in his mouth.

Tooru waited for a grimace or an exclaim of disgust, but instead all he got was a small ‘ _mmm_!’ of exclamation. Iwaizumi grinned at is friend, showing off his chocolate-stained teeth, and flashed a thumbs up. “Tis good, ‘Kawa.” His voice was stifled by the chewing and the fold of his scarf below his lower lip. A single pink sugar heart was stuck on his left cheek (that, coupled with the pleased smile Iwa-chan wore, had Tooru’s heart strapped on tight for a particularly loopy and turbulent rollercoaster ride) and the way he munched on the chocolates—his fifth one, mind you—reminded Tooru of a chipmunk nibbling on a berry.

Tooru crossed his legs and scooted to where Iwaizumi was sitting, and snaked one hand towards the box, which was quickly swatted away. “They’re for me, aren’t they?” Iwaizumi challenged. Tooru flumped back, trying his best to ignore the staggering cold of the snow. “ _I_ was the one who made them, Iwa-chan. Won’t you be at least a little considerate!”

Iwaizumi studied Tooru for a good few second, then motioned the latter to stretch out his palm. Tooru obliged and the other boy then placed a single sphere of chocolate in the centre of his gloved palm. Tooru pouted, pushing up his eyebrows, “Cheapskate Iwa-chan, only giving me one?”

“Shut up, dumbass. Be grateful that I at least gave you one.”

Tooru frowned at his friend, before deciding that it was probably useless to stretch the argument out into a futile string. He placed the chocolate bonbon on his tongue, and resisted the urge to grimace at the overtly sweet of the sugar spreading and effectively numbing his taste buds. He swallowed down the icky sweet, and exclaimed, “How do you even eat this stuff, Iwa-chan! I seriously have never been able to understand how you like your chocolates so revoltingly sugary. My mother chewed me out for using up all the sugar in our house.”

Iwaizumi blinked at Tooru, his eyes never betraying even a pinch of empathy. “You’ve no place to complain when you drink coffee only with a terrifying amount of milk and cream in it.”

“That’s different.”

Iwaizumi pushed his lips out in an incredulous pout except that the effect was quite ruined by the pastel pink heart which refused to leave its spot it had grown comfortable with, on Iwaizumi’s left dimple. The setter let out a resigned sigh, “Fine, we both don’t have a place to argue about this.”

Tooru leaned towards Iwaizumi, his knees shuffling forward in the snow, to keep up with his gradually nearing face, until both the boys’ noses were only about an inch apart. Iwaizumi, who’s viridescent eyes were wide open with panic, did nothing to deter Tooru’s resolve. The former boy opened his mouth—probably to ask Tooru what the hell he was doing or call him dumbass, or both—but all he could manage was a startled sound that escaped him in a light stutter.

“There’s a little something on your cheek, Iwa-chan, don’t worry,” Tooru couldn’t help but giggle as he noticed Iwaizumi’s face contort in alarm. He reached out, and brushed off the sugar heart with the pad of his thumb softly. When he should’ve removed his hand which now cupped the side of Iwaizumi’s hand, Tooru only touched their foreheads together. He could feel the mellow heat of his friend’s blush resonating onto his forehead, which made him huff out a laugh.

“Don’t laugh, Asskawa.”

Tooru jerked back. “When I said you to get more creative with your insults, I didn’t mean it this way!” He frowned at Iwaizumi, who had moved up a hand to block the lower portion of his face. The box sat on his lap, tipping forward at an unsteady angle. When Iwaizumi lowered his hand, the beet colour had faded, and instead he wore his trademark scowl.

“Well, now deal with it. I’ve thought of better ones than this anyway.”

“By better ones, don’t you mean worse, Iwa-chan?!”

Iwaizumi grinned, the muscles of the sides of his face stretching into Tooru’s cupped palms. Tooru gulped and suddenly wished for the earth below to swallow him up. _Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it._

“Kiss me, Iwa-chan.”

 _Why did I say that?!_ Tooru blinked, he was _horrified_ at himself. It usually wasn’t like him to blurt out what he thought out loud. He slapped his hand over his mouth and willed his heart to _calm the fuck down_. Tooru waited with bated breath, expecting a nasty outburst from Iwaizumi because he had done it; he had somehow managed to say the dumbest thing possible.

“No.”

“Eh?”

He expected a reaction, sure, but a blunt, negative one? He did not see that coming. Iwaizumi arose from where he knelt on the snow, snapping Tooru out of his conflicted reverie. “Get up, Trashykawa.”

Tooru struggled to form words, his mind a muddle of confusion and chagrin (how dare Iwa-chan ignore him so blatantly). Iwaizumi mistook his hesitation for stubbornness, and held out his right hand and helped Tooru on to his feet.

“We’ve been loitering in the snow for long enough.” He started to trudge ahead and dragged Tooru with him. “If one of us get sick and miss practice, how the hell do you think can we win against Shiratorizawa and Ushiwaka?” 

The word ‘Shiratorizawa’ seemed to snap his brain back into reality. “H-hang on, Iwa-chan.” He pulled at his friend’s hand, forcing him to slow down. Iwaizumi turned around, his mouth twisted in annoyance. Before the ace could reprimand him, Tooru jabbered, “Why did you refuse?”

Iwaizumi turned away from Tooru, “Refuse what?” The neutral tone of his question, coupled with his indecipherable expression, betrayed nothing much to Tooru’s dismay.

“Don’t play dumb Iwa-chan! It’s Valentine’s Day! Aren’t I at least supposed to get a kiss for the chocolates I made? Plus, you never really gave a proper response to my confession.”

Iwaizumi frowned at Tooru, “Do you really need an explicit answer, Oikawa? Wasn’t me eating those chocolates with my ass freezing off enough for you?” He started, his movements forcing Tooru in a jumbled amble. “Besides, there’s no way I’m gonna kiss you in public.” 

Tooru processed what Iwa-chan said, and he found himself fixated on one part of his friend’s curt dismissal. “So, will you kiss me when we reach home? Anyway, you mentioned earlier that you needed my help with Modern Literature.” And seriously, _what the hell was wrong with him today?_ The fine line of filter between his brain and mouth seemed to be crumbling away, since he just couldn’t keep his disastrous thoughts to himself.

A middle aged woman—her hand wrapped around her child’s wrist—shot a disgusted look in the two boys’ direction and promptly shifted her child’s position to her other side, almost as if to bodily shield him from Tooru and Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi whirled around, his face burning with embarrassment. “Shittykawa, don’t say such things out loud! Are you crazy?” He yanked at Tooru’s hand with vigour, their lazy trudging now sped up into a rushed scamper. “You’ve been even more infuriating than usual today! First confessing to me and giving me those damn chocolates, wrapped in paper and all,” Iwa-chan had now started to ramble to himself, “now you won’t get off my case till we k-kis—” He broke off, and even from where Tooru walked, he could make out Iwaizumi’s almost-purple face.

(Iwa-chan had always had the habit of rendering himself unintelligible when he was too flustered; like the one time they were still young boys of nine, and they had found the odd stash of Tooru’s sister’s novels with big muscular men caressing slender-bodied and half-naked women in the covers. They never brought that summer afternoon up again, especially not after Tooru had insisted to turn over the pages, and their innocent eyes had graced at the raunchy dialogues and X-rated asides peeking out of the unbecoming paragraphs).

Instead of struggling to complete his sentence, Iwaizumi stalked ahead. Tooru spotted the familiar crown of the old persimmon tree. From what the boy had heard, the tree was planted by Iwaizumi’s dad when _he_ was a toddler. It had been a part of the Iwaizumi household since then, and a reasonable fragment in the boys’ childhood.

Iwa-chan stood under the lowest branch of the tree, the top of his hedgehog hair brushing minutely against the snow-collected underneath. He either ignored it or didn’t notice it; for now, his full attention was on Tooru. Now this was something the latter usually was quite content with, seeing as he loved attention. But with Iwaizumi’s hawk-like concentration paired with Tooru’s own resolve, he only felt more like deer caught in headlights (a small annoying voice inside his head cooed, “the headlights of love”).

“Hurry up.”

Tooru resisted the urge to doubletake at Iwaizumi’s curt proposal, he really did. But it wasn’t every day that your feeling of infatuation actually got reciprocated by someone; especially when that someone was the personification of your entire childhood. He swallowed and fixed his eyes at his friend’s face. The face which he had memorized so well, that it was almost second nature to him to conjure up a mental image of Iwaizumi Hajime in his head. The same which was growing sanguine the longer Tooru’s eyes stayed on Iwa-chan.

_Do it, Tooru._

He stepped forward, the shade of the persimmon tree enveloping him. With each step he took, he was even more convinced that his and Iwa-chan’s hearts were composing an impromptu harmony.

_Just kiss him._

They were now only about an inch or two apart—roughly the distance Oikawa was this close to chickening out. If he chickened out now, he’d never forgive himself. Iwaizumi had his eyes half-closed, and had raised his chin up just a tiny bit.

_Oh. I almost forgot that Iwa-chan is shorter than me…_

Tooru leaned forward, his head craned down, closing what little space was left between them. He didn’t touch their lips together at once, no. He hovered by Iwaizumi’s slightly parted lips. He was embarrassed to admit that the urge to turn his head and blow a loud raspberry on his best friend’s cheek was _immaculate_. Plus, there was no way he’d actually do that unless he personally wanted a death wish. He was on the verge of snorting with amusement at his ridiculous thoughts when Iwaizumi cracked open one eye. Whatever mirth he felt died in itself when the other boy covered the thumbnail-sized-space between them and connected their lips.

Iwa-chan had rough lips; it was something Tooru had been aware of for several years. It was a consequence borne from Iwaizumi constantly gnawing at his lips when he contemplated the answer for an objective-type question, or when he concentrated on a lousy game of Mario Kart with Tooru and Takako. They appeared particularly ruddy and chapped during winters, when the boy would stubbornly refuse to apply lip balm. He _knew_ this, but experiencing the roughness against his softer pair of lips just wasn’t the same.

The kiss didn’t exactly feel like magical, otherworldly or sparkly. In fact, the two boys just stood, their lips pressed up together awkwardly—raw from the chilly wind their exposed faces had endured. Tooru wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. After all, this was his first ever kiss as well.

_Should I- should I use my tongue?_

Before he could even process his own doubt, the rational part of his brain snapped at him. _You wanna creep out Iwa-chan? Plus, you don’t have a single idea yourself about kissing._ He couldn’t oppose that. After all, the logical part of him was right; he had no experience whatsoever. Just when Tooru made up his mind to pull back, he felt something brush up on his face. Iwa-chan was… _caressing his face?!_

The sirens inside his head were blaring, turning whatever essence of thoughts left inside him into putty. Iwaizumi’s hand was, surely enough, resting against the side of his face. The boy cupped Tooru’s face, the tips of his fingers grazing gently at the nape of his neck which forced a shudder out of Tooru.

Their lips gained a better angle when Tooru tilted his head slightly, like he had seen in the sappy romcoms his father loved to watch. The movement prompted Iwaizumi’s bottom lip to slot in the gap between the other boy’s lips. The kiss wasn’t amazing, was the thing. They still just barely got the hang of it—their lips nudging at each other’s, with the definite air of uncertainty lingering behind each manoeuvre. But the fact that he was actually sharing his first kiss with Iwa-chan amplified the flurry of emotions in him, making the situation feel _just right_.

Tooru moved to slide his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist; but before he could do that, Iwa-chan broke away, his breath coming out in short gasps.

“Wait,” he rasped.

A sudden weight of dread settled in Tooru, did Iwaizumi hate the kiss? Or was he going to reject him after all? Iwa-chan might have picked up on Tooru’s internal panic because he looked up at him and spoke, “I need to catch my breath, Oikawa.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and darted his eyes away from Tooru. “It’s not as if I’ve kissed you before, I need time to process stuff like that.”

The harrowed monologue running through his head paused instantly and Tooru felt a slow, easy grin settle on his face. He cocked his chin in mock speculation and wondered out loud, “Oh what was that? Is Iwa-chan actually getting butterflies because of Oikawa-san? Wow. That’s new!”

Iwa-chan raised his fist and glared at Tooru murderously. A quick shiver ran through the setter’s spine. “Ahh, I’m sorry Iwa-chan! It was just a joke!” He let out a quiet sigh of relief when his friend lowered his hand and his face turned back to neutral (or as neutral Iwa-chan’s face could get).

“Oikawa.”

“What is it, Iwa-chan?”

“Hurry up and lets’ get inside. We’ve to get the homework done.” Iwaizumi paused and ran an uncertain hand through his spiky hair. “Plus, I need your help with Modern Lit.”

_The heck, since when did Iwa-chan get this smooth?_

“I’ll do my best to make sure you’ll _ace_ the test, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes as Tooru cackled at his own joke. “Sure, laugh at your own shitty joke, Shittykawa. Now come in quickly, I really don’t want to fail Modern Lit.”

Tooru hummed in assent and stepped in after his friend inside the Iwaizumi residence. Just as he knelt down to remove his shoes (“Excuse the intrusion, Iwa-san!” he called when he saw his friend’s mother poke her head from outside the dining room) he realised it.

“Shit, I forgot my Lit notebook!” 

~

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this ( ´ ▽ ` )  
> I just love reading your lovely feedback and all the support in the comments. They're highly appreciated!
> 
> And no, I literally have no idea how to make chocolates so I'm with Oikawa in that department. I just read one article and uhh... rolled with it. 
> 
> For anyone who's curious about what song Oikawa was listening to, its called Silent Screamer by Taeko Ohnuki, its really amazing.


End file.
